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˖*°࿐ chapter fifty. l. THE PRINCE THAT WAS PROMISED.
WAVES CRASHED AGAINST THE ROCKS THAT LAID OUT IN THE SEA,near the beach,the clouds of heavy rain have floated over them a while ago, Unsullied soldiers meeting up with the King in the North, Tobin Sparr. He and his advisor, Dorin Bridges, walked closer to Arin and Melora, who stood between the two flanks of soldiers and some khalasar. Tobin's hair was now put into a bun, seeming darker than it was when it was down, "The Bastard of Winterfell."
"Dwarf of Egita Rock," Tobin replies, both smiling at each other, shaking hands.
"I believe we last saw each other atop the wall."
"You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right," they step back, releasing their hands. "Picked up some scars along the road." Arin nods, replying quickly.
"It's been a long road, but we're both still here. I'm Arin Leygood," he says to Dorin, who walks closer and shakes his hand formally.
"Dorin Bridges."
"Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought opposite sides on the Battle of Blackwater Bay."
"Unluckily for me," Dorin replies, Arin turning around after a brief moment of silence, trying to take the awkwardness from the air. The tension was thick enough to cut with a sword like a cake. "Melora is the Queen's most trusted advisor," he looks t the tall warm-skinned woman, who smiles at all of them kindly.
"Welcome to Dragonstone. Our Queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons," this makes Tobin look over at Dorin and his men, confused at why the Greystone would go at such lengths. Melora knew why though; if he had hundreds of assassins trying to kill him all throughout his life, he would take precautionary measures as well. Though Laelia had three large dragons, they couldn't fit in through the doors of the castle, making the stronghold the only place she could ever be killed in without her dragons eating or roasting the men alive.
"Of course," Tobin says, beginning to remove his sheath from his trousers, Enochian men going up to his men and taking every dagger they held on them, another waiting for Tobin to hand over his weapon. Intimidated, Tobin hands it over, the white wolf carved into the handle shining against the brown rags they wore. More khalasar move the boat from the beach, "Please, this way."
"Where are you from?" Dorin walks beside Melora. "I can't place the accent."
